The One Where I’m the Monica
Every friend group has a Monica, and in mine it’s me. On being the connector and the host, the love language I inherited, and the chosen family it built.
Every friend group has a Monica, and in mine it’s me. On being the connector and the host, the love language I inherited, and the chosen family it built.
A year of blaming a “dead” Breville, then three fixes (fresh beans, a clean grinder, a $12 scale) that brought the espresso and crema back.
In January of 2008 I gave myself a week in New York City for my fortieth birthday. Not for work; purely as a tourist, purely as a present to myself. One cold, bright morning, fortified by a bagel from Katz’s, I took the ferry out to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island with a…
Friday Roundup #30: a complicated Fourth of July, a 2008 photo from the Great Hall at Ellis Island, fall brussels sprouts, and Momofuku Bo Ssam on the kamado.
A gallon of Maille Dijon showed up on purpose. The real math on buying mustard in bulk, plus the cereal bunker under the stairs.
Friday Roundup: A thin week at karacooks: a garden running late, a monster love story up for a Hugo, ten pounds of cherries, and a gallon of mustard landing Thursday.
Every Sunday morning, Zach makes Meemaw’s biscuits. Light, flaky, rich with butter, tender, and just about perfect. We eat them with scrambled eggs and thick-cut bacon, sometimes with sausage gravy when we’re feeling indulgent, sometimes with nothing but butter and strawberry jelly when we want simple. Every once in a while he makes them for…
The gothic half of a Maine trip: a Boston Spenser pilgrimage, a tropical storm, the easternmost point, a Bar Harbor ghost tour, and Stephen King’s gate.
A steamy Georgia-summer roundup: dirty spaghetti on the must-try list, Good Culture cottage cheese, the new Nora Roberts, cherry plums, and Kamado-grilled lunches.
Every fall, Zach and I take a week and go somewhere. Late September, early October, right before the holiday season turns into a demolition derby. We started it in 2019 and it has become the most protected week on our calendar. Tucson one year. Jekyll and Cumberland Island another. A big loop through Las Vegas…
It’s Pride, and this Saturday I’m walking the Roswell Pride Walk. So before the month runs out on a calendar full of fruit salad and steak, here’s the thing I actually believe: LGBTQ+ equality is line one of what I stand for, and it isn’t an abstraction. It has names, and they eat at my table.
Carol’s potato salad is mayo, mustard, yellow onion, celery, and dill relish dressed on hot potatoes. No secrets. Just muscle memory and good timing.